"The Death of a Muse"

The great tree is toppled.

I did not know
the groaning I heard
was the death
of a muse,

this stranger to a landscape

who coaxed me
to look out the window
and see a moment
of colour and motion.

~John Forbis, from Exposures, his first book of poems

The word can be spoken through any part of creation, especially a tree. Namaste.

image: John, my nephew, my godson, and a monk at uMariya uMama weThemba Monastery in Grahamstown, South Africa